BORRELIA BURGDORFERI
The hour of Noon began its slow decline,
Though I descended faster than the Sun.
Fatigue and a dull headache had begun
Abrading the coarse fabric of the Mind,
Which came unraveled, leaving me behind,
Apparently—as if all motives bled
To feed that dazzling liquid acre spread
With yellow Water Lilies and sunshine.
Was it the Tick I found attached last spring—
One solitary insect that contained
Those countless Lilies in each pore floating?
Upon each blossom Buddhas and their trains
Of Bodhisattvas poised themselves to bless,
Revealing Nature as pure Emptiness.
